


Found Wanting

by Write_and_Wrong



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Questioning, Reconditioning, Snippets, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:14:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_and_Wrong/pseuds/Write_and_Wrong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, where Bull is Ben-Hassrath re-educator and Dorian is captured Tevinter mage, which Bull has to break and remake to a good little obedient Saarebas.  Bull is very good at what he does and yet, his new 'vint is proving to be an interesting challenge.</p><p>Ben-Hassrath!Bull is not kind...but he <em>is</em> very smitten with his new charge.  The mage is lovely but Bull is also certain he'll serve a multitude of purposes for the good of the Qun.</p><p>If he just so happens to come out ahead too, it's surely a matter of happenstance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the DAKM: "AU, where Bull is a Ben-Hassrath re-educator and Dorian is captured Tevinter mage, which Bull has to break and remake to a good little obedient Saarebas. So let me see some crazy Qunari mindfuck with drugs, torture, and maybe some sexy technique addition. Make it as dark and twisted as you can, guys. I'm going to hell anyway."

The Ben-Hassrath had gagged the mage after several hours of cyclical beatings and healings. Usually doing as such would have been detrimental to his cause but he had a ways to go on this one yet; that, and the 'vint seemed to use his own voice as a tether, a safety net on which to fall, to catch himself. To hold onto himself with. The Ben-Hassrath could not allow this, of course.

He smiled to himself as he watched the taut muscles lining his captive's abdomen clench and release as he writhed. The cocky ones usually snapped quickly, arrogance holding little sway once the pain began, but this young mage from Tevinter had surprised him. The human was naked, lashed down to the table in the interrogation room, legs spread wide and wrists bound together and stretched above his head. The Qaamek--very diluted--had been administered ten minutes prior. It had taken twenty-seven seconds for the mage to begin sweating, forty-two for him to begin moaning, and seventy-eight for him to begin roiling in his bonds, struggling to get free of both the agony and the visions the drug caused. Now, he was little more than a shivering, stretched-thin mess.

If the sounds that managed to escape those delicious lips past the gag happened to make the re-educator hard, he chocked it up as a happy side effect to being diligent with his ministrations. _Anaan esaam Qun._

Coating two fingers, first in the antidote, secondly in oil, The Ben-Hassrath advanced on his prey and shoved those two fingers mercilessly inside him. The mage's eyes snapped open as a long, keening cry of pain ripped loose from his throat, muffled beneath cloth and cord. Whimpering, tears stained with kohl coursing down pink-flushed cheeks, the mage became more and more lucid as the drug subsided. He tore at his wrists and the ropes binding them so fiercely they started to bleed, forgetting the binds on his ankles holding him directly where his Qunari tormentor wanted him. The fingers probed and stretched, heat searing him in personal places his captor had already defiled previously with his digits, a rod tipped in poison, his tongue. 

The Qunari smiled, watching the mage sag to the tabletop when he removed his fingers. The human was so relieved he did not feel the the rope holding his wrists gain give, nor the gentle tug that brought his knees forward to drop over the side. He did not notice anything besides his momentary reprieve. That changed suddenly, explosively, when Dorian felt himself get pulled up against something huge, something warm and throbbing and blunt. 

The burn was white-hot and sudden; the pressure, unrelenting and painful. It took him less than a second of the violation to begin screaming.

The Ben-Hassrath's smile widened as the mage's body did, helpless to stop himself getting impaled on the Qunari's erection but trying to regardless. The captor was again surprised as his subject tried to fight his way free; one loop of the rope from his wrists around his throat, though, and the 'vint lost all ability to struggle and most of his air to boot, tied arms bent up awkwardly and nestled snuggly against the back of his neck, elbows angled skyward in a crude imitation of his own horns.

The big Qunari clenched one tan thigh and growled in pleasure, thrusting into this perfect thing made broken in his hands. Broken, but not broken enough; there was still spirit, still hope, in the beautiful mage. It was clear in the struggling, the fear and fury in the grey eyes, the refusal to break. 

Oh, the 'vint would break, but not soon. No, not soon at all. The Ben-Hassrath, smiling to himself, would make sure of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He called himself "Bull" in his head. Partly because of the set of his horns; partly because of a nickname his old Tamassaran had called him in the quiet moments; but mostly as a joke. It rolled off the tongue easier than Ben-Hassrath, or even Hissrad. All three applied but under the Qun, only the latter two mattered.

"Tell me about your family, little mage."

"There is nothing to tell," Dorian snarled, vehement despite the sweat on his skin and the blush creeping over his dark skin. His grey eyes smoldered, proud beyond all rationality given his situation. Bull frowned and grabbed one caramel-colored nipple between his fingers, pinching just a little too hard. The 'vint bit his lip to avoid reacting...which worked, until Bull's fingers started to twist and forced a strangled gasp out of Dorian, who writhed to escape the sensation.

The interrogator was reclined just slightly, pillows propped between his back and the wall. He wasn't clothed-; he had no need to be for if he opted to fuck his charge later it would require an extra step to undress. For now, more carnal punishment wasn't necessary. He had the 'vint exactly where he wanted him: ankles bound tightly to his thighs, wrists similarly pulled down and back and tied to his ankles, naked and straddling the Qunari's waist. The bindings left him unable to move beyond the squirming Bull elicited with his assaults: small, precise movements that would eek the mage's control out from under him. 

The cincher, of course, was that Bull had spent awhile playing with Dorian before they'd gotten to work, pinning the struggling human against the thin sheets of his bed and forcing him into readiness. The Qunari had let the man fight him at first, let him thrash and punch and spit, let him feel like he was actually giving it his best effort. Dorian was very well built for a magic user, his lean form a study in toned musculature from tip to toe. Those muscles had been laughingly insufficient to stop Bull from eventually using his sheer size to bring the mage to heel, tying his hands but not yet questioning. 

No, he'd kissed the human first, tongue forcing itself between startled, full lips before being bitten rather nastily by his charge. A large hand clamped around Dorian's throat, squeezing 'til he saw stars had gotten him to lay off biting (albeit not struggling) as the Qunari's heavy thigh forced his apart. Bull had growled in desire, deep rumble reverberating in the mage's open mouth. Dorian shuddered and tried to kick the Ben-Hassrath off of him. As punishment, Bull spent the next quarter hour teasing the mage's genitals with hands that were as clever as they were strong, forcing the mage to hardness until his retorts had faded to simpering moans. He'd brought Dorian to the brink and then had brought in the tortuous element: a tight band around the base of the 'vint's cock that held all the blood where it was and kept him teetering when he wanted release.

_That_ was when Bull began his questioning. Every biting comment that Dorian spat got him a pinch or caress or tease, never in the area he needed it, though. For the mage, this exercise was a war against himself. He could talk, or he would get more discomfort. His member was throbbing and purple, so hard it hurt. Bull of course gave him not one second of relief.

"Come now, little mage," he laughed quietly at his own taunt, "I'm just asking who your family is, where you're from. These are the easy questions." _The ones I already know the answers to._

"Fuck you," Dorian snarled, the last syllable sliding into a groan as the Ben-Hassrath dug blunt nails into his hips and dragged his fingers around to clutch both the mage's perfect cheeks. 

"'Think you have that backwards, 'vint," Bull growled, teeth bared in a feral grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, going to hell, too, I suppose. I know this already. Half thought of making this more than a one-shot to more fully fill the prompt, but yeah as of right now, I have chickened out. Let me know what you think?


End file.
